


Fan The Flame

by wicked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Apocalypse, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M, There will be more tags as I go along, Violence, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wicked/pseuds/wicked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Apocalypse and everything has fallen apart. Cas, Gabe and Sam are running for their lives, searching for the impossible.<br/>This is a DeanCas story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posted Supernatural fic, and consequently my first Destiel. Even if it doesn't initially appear to be one. I would really very much appreciate any and all comments and thoughts regarding the story.  
> Do you think it worth continuing?  
> Also, if anyone is interested in beta-ing this, send me a message here or on tumblr - wicked121

“Cassie, please!” Gabe tried not to throw his hands up in frustration at his younger sibling, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to rein in pointless anger. The youngest Novak merely frowned harder, arms crossing a too thin chest.

            “Gabriel, I just don’t feel safe there. I can’t understand why this perplexes you so. Please, can’t we just keep going for a bit longer? I’m sure there’s a warehouse or some abandoned building not far from here.” Gabriel felt his resolve crumbling at the wide-eyed blues that pleaded with him; throwing a sidelong look at their third companion he was met with an expression he knew would be gracing his own face had he a mirror. Resignation in regards to Castiel was something that he was accustomed to and with a low growl he finally let his hands fly up, the only satisfaction he knew he’d see this evening.

 

            Running had never been Gabriel’s idea of enjoyment. It had always been something that the youngest of the Novak’s had taken upon himself to exercise in such a manner, saying it made him feel like he was flying. Gabriel thought it more likely that it kept him a step ahead of his schoolyard tormentors. Cas had woken up early every morning of their childhood and teenage years; it was Cas that had run miles and miles even as the sun rose. Gabriel knew that Sam had practiced a similar regime, knew that eventually the best friends had begun training together, never using what was an obvious talent as far as Gabriel could tell to win them any medals or trophies, claiming they simply enjoyed it. These days Gabriel wishes he had learned to love running as Castiel had. Perhaps he would be better at it now.

 

            It quickly becomes obvious that Cas hadn’t been completely wrong in his estimate of some sort of abandoned type housing. The three companions separate briefly to scope the building out; it probably once served a home for a young family, or maybe just a couple. A townhouse in an up and coming neighborhood; Castiel finds himself imagining the type of people who might have lived here, what they might have done, if they are still alive. Gabriel tells him it is a morose occupation but he can never seem to stop himself – imagining the lives that people might have led Before.

 

            Meeting back in the living room with their bounty they begin setting up for the night. It’s routine by now; Castiel is in charge of blankets, pillows, any items of clothing or shoes he can find, “creature comforts” Sam calls them. Castiel knows everyone’s sizes by heart, though they are rarely so picky as to care, he knows his own current apparel is hardly anything to lust after, certainly not in the Before, but it keeps him warm and makes him appear bigger than he is, the colours dark or muted to not attract attention and to blend in with the general grey-ness of the outside world. Sometimes he misses his old clothes, his sweater vests and his beloved tan trench coat, as impracticable as it is. Sam is really the only one they have trouble finding things for, his above average size makes each item found more of a prize than those for either Cas or Gabe. Sam and Gabriel take charge of the food, scrounging anything they can find, anything that might be edible. Nutritional content has ceased being of any sort of import. Food is food and anything that keeps their bodies going another day is good enough. Sam, who used to survive solely on greens and lean meats took it the hardest at the start. Castiel has seen him, more than once, desperately scooping out unnamed brown mush from a can. There was a time, Before, that they may have teased him for it. Now, it is simply survival.

 

            Dinner, or what now passes as it, is relatively unhurried as far as their meals go nowadays. The house is reasonably secured, each of them covering off all of the doors and windows, taking stock of all of the exits, which is the quickest to access from the living room. Castiel pushes around the contents of his tuna can. He never liked sea food as a child, remembers his parents making him sit at the kitchen table until he had finished every bite, remembers Gabriel causing distractions so that he could feed large portions of it to the cat who would lick it greedily from his fingers even as retracted his hands to his lap, hand poised over his fork. Picking up a flaking piece, he shoves it into his mouth with a grimace.

 

            They are laying on the floor of the living room, swathed in darkness, the sounds of soft snores coming from both his brother and the hulking man he calls a best friend, soothing sounds that once lulled him to sleep but now only fuel his brains frantic stirring. Castiel does not know sleep as he once did; he does not know much of what he used to. He tries hard not to think on what life was like before, there’s a piercing pain in his chest when he ventures down that road, a pain that always ends in gasping sobs, bitten through a sleeve or a fist or a dirty blanket. He tries not to think of what he’s lost, though he knows it is a futile battle.

 

           

            _“Baby, I promise that I’ll find you, ok?” Cas can distantly feel the tears that are cascading down his cheeks, tickling at his dirty chin before plummeting to their death. A journey his heart mirrors as the reality sinks in, as the noise escalates around them, boxes crashing to the floor as the front door rattles dangerously. “Cas? Please, you gotta go.” His fingers grip tighter into the weathered leather clad shoulders, bitten fingernails biting into the well-loved fabric as he buries his face into the chest of the man before him, chest too tight to speak. He wants to shout, wants to scream that he won’t run, that he won’t leave him, wants to tell him that they can make it, all of them. He knows it will fall on deaf ears._

_His closest ally, Sam, is already gathering their supplies, even as his own tears fall. Cas feels sick as he watches his brother and best friend pack up their meager belongings, gripping tighter to the shoulders that support most of his weight. Arms wrap securely around him, almost too firm for a half a moment before someone is grabbing him from behind, pulling him away, even as his voice finds itself in a hoarse scream that is sure to attract more attention that they want._

_“No! No! You promised we’d stay together! NO!” Lips press swiftly against his, too quick to be anything but a goodbye, even as he’s dragged backwards, tears and snot choking him before he’s hauled over Sam’s shoulder to prevent him from hindering their movement. He can feel the shaking of those large shoulders, the soft cries muffled against his own legs as he’s pulled away from Him. One more wail makes its way, pleadingly, from him, a name passing his lips even as he loses sight of him, even as the doors barge open finally, the snarling and animalistic growls growing distant as Sam and Gabriel hurry them through the alleyway._

_“Dean…”_


	2. Chapter 2

Cas wakes shaking and biting the dirty corner of his blanket, long since having learned to muffle his cries, his nightmares. He wipes angrily at the tears coating his cheeks, sniffling a bit as he heaves himself from the cocoon of blankets to head towards the bathroom. The water does not work any longer but he still feels more human when he can relieve himself in a toilet instead of the forest or the side of the road. Gabriel thinks it’s indulgent but Cas savours moments like this, stolen away from the ever-watchful eyes of his companions. He knows they tiptoe around him in the mornings, knows they hear him despite his best attempts at silence. He feels awful about disrupting their sleep, about displaying his own grief so boldly when Sam holds his own so close to his chest but the guilt does not stop the nightmares from coming every night. Nothing does.

 

            Finished, he makes his way towards where he knows the kitchen lies in the small townhouse, seating himself at the dust covered table, only to fold forwards, head nestled between crossed arms, dust motes tickling his nose as he tries to calm his still too fast heart. He dares not close his eyes again so soon, resting peacefully until what’s left of his family awakens and they can begin what often seems like a destination-less journey.

 

            With his eyes open he allows his mind to wander; it is not a particularly safe endeavor, but with his eyes open at least he’s less likely to fall prey to the one memory he tries so hard to avoid. He can pick less dangerous ones, let himself just skim their surface instead of committing to delving inside entirely. It’s more like scratching instead of plunging the blade right in. It’s a pain he can deal with, a pain he can relish.

 

            _Cas can feel his eyes burning above the pages laid before him, their words blurring in the semi-darkness of the room. He scrubs his fingers into his eyes, willing himself awake for another hour at least. The touch that settles onto his shoulders should startle him; he didn’t hear any movement in the small apartment, but the familiar scent that wafts over him instantly calms. Leather and oil and sunlight. His lips stretch into a smile as he allows his head to fall back against the hard chest behind him, eager for the kiss that is bestowed on him. Once, twice, both instances far too short if Cas has anything to say about it. He’s about to offer an official complaint when callused fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, pressing into the knots and the hard muscle as though they know every inch. He can feel himself melting backwards, low groans and the occasional moan slipping past his lips as he tries to keep his eyes from slipping closed._

_“I have to stay up. The exam is tomorrow at eight am. Give me another hour and I’ll come up to bed, I promise.” His voice is a low whine but he counts it as a win that he managed the sentence at all considering the movement of those fingers. The chuckle is low, breath tickling his ear before a kiss is pressed to his neck._

_“You know this Cas. You’ll ace it just like to do with every exam you’ve taken. Come to bed.” He wants to argue, to at least put up a bit of fight but Dean knows his every weakness, had scoured them each out quickly and with an efficiency that sometimes startled him at the beginning. The nibbling that starts at the lobe of his ear before trickling downwards is hardly fair Cas thinks even as he tips his head to afford his boyfriend more access. His eyelids are fluttering, his last resolve crumbling as Dean starts sucking at the juncture of his neck._

_He slams the heavy text book closed as he scrambles from his chair, wooden legs scraping across the floor as he spins into the strong arms that are already waiting for him, smug grin visible for only an instant before he covers it with his own lips, desperate and wanting in this little home they’ve made with each other. The chuckle that rumbles against his own lips is muted but he tries to scowl anyways as he steps back, grabbing at Dean’s fingers to pull him towards their bedroom._

“Hey little brother, you awake?” Gabriel’s voice breaks through the haziness of the waking dream-memory Cas had ensconced himself in. He shivers as he returns to the land of the living. He does not remember the room being so cold when he first seated himself at the table, but he feels downright chilled now, fingers biting as they rub his eyes before wrapping themselves around his chest. Sam comes in a second later with a blanket, reading Cas, knowing just what he needs, often before he knows himself. He does not deserve either of these people but he will not turn them away.

 

            He is almost thankful that Gabriel startled him when he did, he does not know if he could have stopped himself in time. There is more to the memory, so much more, touches that still send heat flaring through his skin, that make his heart thump hollowly in his chest, that make his eyes water uncontrollably. There is no time for memories such as those. Weakness is not something that he can afford, not if he wants to survive. They have a long way to go today he knows.

 

            Throwing a grateful look at Sam he pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders before leading the way back to their makeshift room to gather up their supplies, any remaining food carefully divided between their bags in case one is lost or stolen. They each take a few sips of their water, rationing it; they’re running low but it has been harder and harder to come by lately. They haven’t found bottled water in several weeks and Sam had mentioned boiling lake water, just last night, to refill their bottles.

 

            Cas tries to pay attention to the quiet chatter that enfolds him as they finish their packing, tries to participate in the conversation that he knows surrounds their plans for the day, but he’s been able to play-participation for a long time now, knows when to nod and hum affirmation. The rest of his attention is on the map he had long since memorized that Sam spreads across the floor, thick fingers pointing out random points as though they should mean something. Castiel hopes Gabriel is following along. Cas is focused solely on the red-circled area, their “rendezvous point”; they’ve been headed towards Camp Haan for months, keeping track of themselves on that worn map because road signs are few and far between and not always reliable, besides taking main roads is often out of the question, the things that lie in wait on the road are not friends.

 

            Satisfied with whatever Gabe and Sam had been mulling about the three head out, checking out the main door and windows before cautiously exiting the house, weapons held at the ready. Cas had never been a fan of guns but he learned early on that it was a necessity in this new life and he had taken to the lessons from Dean with aplomb, just like when he was in school. Sam takes the lead while Gabriel hangs back slightly, just a footstep between him and his brother. It’s some sort of unspoken rule they’ve established without Cas’ permission. He’s always in the middle, always surrounded, always protected; he doesn’t remember when it started exactly, the first few days without Dean are blurry and unrecognizable. When he had gained some semblance of control over himself again, this had become their new formation; he’s tried arguing it a few times but it’s always met with deaf ears, much to his chagrin.

 

            They head towards the trees, a light jog they usually employ until they are under cover of tree and darkness. It’s harder to creep up on them in the forest; leaves and fallen branches make noise in the silence of the trees. They rarely talk now, saving conversation for breaks when they discuss direction or sleeping arrangements or when they’re in the relative safety of a house or abandoned building. They rarely stop in the safe house locations any longer, although it is a mystery to both Sam and Gabriel why Castiel refuses so vehemently.

 

            Minutes seem to drag and yet pass in an instant in the stillness of the wood, the only indication of time the movement of the sun when it manages to peek through the branches. Castiel moves through his routine without much thought. He repeats the mantra in his head, ‘He’ll be there. He promised to be there. He’s fine.’ He knows Gabriel is not as convinced, has argued once or twice for heading towards other locations that they’ve heard of from wanderers such as themselves. Safe havens that people are migrating towards; military protected locations that will take in the uninfected. Sam and Cas always override whatever protestations he makes. Dean will be at Camp Haan, Cas _knows_ he will; He promised.

           

            They pause briefly to eat some beef jerky that Sam found a few days ago, the meat tough and definitely stale, but still a luxury that they cannot afford to overlook. Meat is almost non-existent unless you’re planning on hunting, or resorting to cannibalism; an act that makes you no better than the fiends they’re running from. Sam and Gabriel are once again perusing the map, speaking in low murmurs as their heads bend closer together. Cas is idly drawing in the dirt with a stick, aware that he is not particularly necessary to the conversation as long as they plan on staying on track to their destination. He is quite happy to sit quietly.

 

            The crunch of the twig is both too loud and far too close when it comes. The three men jump up but the snarling is already upon them by the time they spin in its direction. Cas barely has time to register that the man who lumbers out of the forest was probably a businessman, perhaps a CEO or a high-class lawyer like Sam was hoping to become with the three piece suit, in tatters but still recognizable as expensive, before the burly man is on top of him, growling and drooling, blood covered fingers reaching for his neck even as he tries to push against his chest, feet kicking out uselessly beneath the weight pining them down. He can hear shouting as he struggles to keep the man’s teeth away from his skin; he can see his gun, just out of reach, having fallen to the far side of the log he was sitting on.

 

            Within what he is sure was probably only seconds the man is pulled off of him. Even as he’s scrambling backwards, the gunshot rings out loud in the forest, a beacon to their location for any others who might have been travelling with their attacker. The red dot that mars his forehead looks painted on for a moment before blood starts to slowly drip from the hole; Castiel thinks it is sort of beautiful in it’s own desolate, morose way. A painting he would have stopped to look at in a museum; something he would have wondered about and brought up in conversation with Dean over dinner. Dean would have told him he was being morbid and weird but he would have laughed, draping his arm over the smaller man before he pecked him on the lips with a kiss that would have driven the painting from Cas’ mind.

 

            Without words the trio is grabbing up their things, sprinting through the forest, louder than they have any right to be, branches snapping beneath their pounding feet, gasping breaths deafening in Cas’ ears. He feels displaced, feet moving of their own accord, muscle memory taking over as his brain short circuits. He hasn’t been that close to a Croat in months, not since before Dean split from their little group; Sam and Gabriel have kept them safe.

 

            _The news is playing in the background, volume down low to provide white noise as Cas studies for a test he has tomorrow. He knows the content but he’s an avid believer that you can never be over prepared and a final review of the subject matter certainly won’t hurt. Dean is humming in the kitchen, the muffled clatter of pots a comforting melody rather than the annoyance Cas believed it would be when they first moved in together._

_Distracted, Cas glances up at the television, confusion pulling at his eyebrows as he watches the distressed blonde news anchor, fingers fumbling for the remote, eyes glued to the screen. As the volume increases, he can hear the panicked voices in the background of the anchor; people running in seeming agitation, confusion clear in the muffled yelling._

_“Dean! Dean, come in here!” Cas can’t tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him, even as his boyfriends’ footsteps echo in their hallway. The anchor is looking around frantically, her green eyes too wide, camera forgotten in the face of fear._

_“What is it baby?” Dean’s eyes migrate to the screen his boyfriend is gaping at just as a dark haired woman jumps from off-screen at the female anchor, her scream shrill in the microphone before it drops to the ground. The camera moves with the two females, following the action that unfolds before its viewers, a grotesque scene that neither man in the apartment can look away from. The lunging woman is tearing into the throat of the blonde news anchor, blood spraying everywhere like some sort of_ _abstract expressionism, something Pollock would have thrown onto a canvas. Cas feels sick._

_The screen flashes briefly black before the news station comes back in, shaky anchors clearly ruffled as they shift papers spastically, chests heaving in_ _distress._

_“Uh…as you can see, the situation at Arlington Memorial Hospital in Texas is quickly escalating. Police and emergency workers are advising people to stay in their homes, to preserve and stock up on water and non-perishable goods. We will have more information as it becomes available, but please keep yourselves safe and with your loved ones if you can manage it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Thoughts thus far??   
> Is it worth continuing? 
> 
> Cheers  
> Kat


End file.
